


Erythrophobia

by Anorkie



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, It is very vague on the who though, M/M, Make that plural, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 18:03:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10949862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anorkie/pseuds/Anorkie
Summary: He used to associate red with nice things.





	Erythrophobia

He remembers everything, and he remembers it in red.

Possessed by childish curiosity, it seems more like a dream now: a garden expansive enough to endlessly delight the eyes with earthy palettes and the nose with misted petals. He saw little of the purple blossoms that emulated the brilliant neon pinks of gods. They glowed dangerously under his supervised gaze - _do not touch._ Instead, he sought the company of milder flowers with vermilion and carmine accents. They were safe, he was taught.

He remembers red being safe.

This knowledge was uprooted with the introduction of garments in similar shades. He would never recover from the intrusion; he ached for colorblindness. The clothes - _clothes,_ like they concealed anything - appeared fragile enough to tear in the hands that presented them. He became compliant to their flimsy nature. Caught in the spindly fingers of his masters, they shrieked in their removal. Ribbons of ravishing rose left stains where they teased his skin and fainted. Alone, he allowed himself to be opened wide to prove his subservience to the Empire. Shredded fabric stilled beside him, under him - purpose served. For years, he fulfilled his respective purpose while accompanied by such treacherous attire.

For years, he rubbed his skin raw where the red fondled him. Raw and pink, he kidded himself with the success of his efforts only to watch the color overwhelm him like a flash flood in a box. Sometimes, instead of clothing, it came in the form of blood. Sometimes, that was the only thing he wore.

Allura offers him a new purpose in a different color. It is a calm color that reminds him of the liquid energy that courses through his home planet, but he cannot so easily accept the armor she wishes to bestow upon him. With two of Voltron’s paladins recently deceased, he has to wonder what keeps her from making the decision for him.

He does not take the armor for her sake. He takes it out of respect for the people he yearns to protect and nothing else.

In the privacy of his quarters, he dreads the possibility of it clashing. He fears the red that has long ago seeped into his pores will notice the contradiction he dons and reemerge. Gauntlets and guards collapse around his feet with hefty thuds. He doesn’t try the armor on again until he is alone with his husband. The gentle gaze of golden eyes encourages him through most of it, but there is a moment of hesitation. He begins to fiddle with the chest piece even though it fits perfectly.

“Aku.” Kolivan’s arms contain what swirls inside, and he realizes something. The colors do not clash nor mix to create that shade of purple that paints Aku’s nightmares or, if thrust into the proper enemy, the tip of his dagger.

He does see that shade on his husband. To an outsider, their union may be laughable - pitiable, even. A person so ravaged by the Empire he can no longer define himself without mentioning it, marrying a _Galra_. He should be more afraid.

There is a sense of dread Kolivan’s warmth cannot quell. In the armor, Aku feels like he is wearing the bones of a dead man; a skeleton - still in the process of decomposing - unearthed to hide inside of. For this reason, he does not wear it again until work necessitates its use.

He is the last to leave his hangar and the last to return.   

Keith and the others are waiting for him when he finally coaxes his lion into releasing him from the metal cage of her belly. Lukewarm congratulations on a first mission well done are tossed around, but not a single word of praise makes it to his ears. He is too concentrated on the rush of emotions he expects to erupt from behind Keith and Pidge’s faces. Pidge smiles a sad smile; Keith is deadly quiet.

The Black Paladin catches Aku before he can blend into the small crowd and, like them, take a breather, distract himself with other responsibilities, and - most importantly - get himself out of this outfit.  

“You look good,” Keith’s voice is scratchy. The longing inside of his eyes surfaces like something drowned and obscenely bloated. Nostalgia for eyes unpossessed by such sickness leaves Aku breathless.

“Thank you, my friend,” he manages to say with a lowered gaze.

They are an uncoordinated two-man act, Keith and Lotor, and Aku is not fast enough to avoid the second half of it. A flash of red disturbs the stillness of the air. He is disgusted by the way he is still attracted to the color - even on someone like Lotor. He thinks he would like it better smeared beyond the edges of the armor; pooled around the man undeserving of Keith’s hand in marriage and Allura’s tolerance. Instead, it merely slices a small portion of his chin. A fresh wound. Nothing that will scar. If not for Keith’s presence, Aku would expect to be taunted. He gets something entirely different, but he is somehow reminded of tubes being jammed into his flesh, chemicals sloshing inside his veins, when Lotor speaks:

“Blue suits you.”

Keith’s amethyst eyes are all over him. He doesn’t want to be afraid.

“Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wouldn't exactly call this a companion-piece to Ephemerality (http://archiveofourown.org/works/10731636) but it does take place in the same universe. I can't promise that story will provide any more insight but it does delve into Keith and Lotor's relationship a little more. 
> 
> Aku is my friend Cole's OC. I love him dearly. Here is their tag for art of him if you're curious what he looks like: http://foxxyopal.tumblr.com/tagged/oc%3B-aku


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